


Tap

by lorcaswhisky (aristofranes)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Pre-Season/Series 02, Section 31 (Star Trek), add in a sentient and possibly evil AI, and you've about got it, imagine a terrible job interview on Zoom, multiply that by about a hundred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28416231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristofranes/pseuds/lorcaswhisky
Summary: In the aftermath of a fragile armistice, Kat receives an offer.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 9





	Tap

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this back in ... March? April? And then a whole lot of life happened and I forgot all about it, until I found it this afternoon while looking for a scene for completely *different* thing that I'm sure I wrote down at some point around that time. I may never find that scene again, but in the meantime, have some more Kat!

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

It’s been more than an hour now. Waiting in front of a screen for a call from - someone.

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

If the request had come from anywhere else, she would already have given up. She’s had a zero-tolerance policy on lateness for a long time. Has to, with a diary as crowded as hers. Too many meetings, too few hours in the day, a situation that's only become worse since the armistice. 

Or better. This way, there’s not enough time to think about how they got here. 

She doesn't wait for anyone, not usually. But this request - this  _ order,  _ strictly speaking - came from the very top, bypassing her adjutant, directly to her.

And so, she waits.

_ Tap tap tap tap tap— _

_ “Admiral Cornwell.” _

Finger still hovering in the air above the desk, Katrina pauses mid-drum. The display on her screen has gone blank, the glowing blue Starfleet logo having been blinked out by the connection.

“Your video feed isn’t working—”

_ “Unnecessary. We can see you. This is sufficient.” _

Katrina grinds her jaw, a bad habit she picked up from another bad habit a long time ago. So that’s how they want to play this. Remind her who’s in charge here. Fine. 

She can’t quite place the accent. It’s - everywhere and nowhere, all at once, all the edges that might have given her a clue smoothed out. The evenness of their tone suggests Vulcan, perhaps, but that’s not quite right. There’s something else that Katrina can’t put her finger on. 

Speaking of which, seeing as she’s being watched by superiors as yet unknown, she ought to make her impatience less obvious. She lowers her finger, lays her hands flat on the desk, and assembles as professional an expression as she can muster.

“Who am I addressing?” she asks, in a tone that would pass for politeness with strangers, but would have her adjutant ducking for cover.

There’s a pause, a fact that irritates Katrina. The question would seem to be relatively straightforward. And she has a right to know.

_ “Section 31,”  _ the voice says at last.

In the space between breaths, Katrina’s mind races. 

“What, all of them?” she manages, scrambling to get a hold of the conversation again. "Why won't you let me see who I'm speaking to?"

The black of the screen blurs, shimmers like the surface of a pool and then coalesces into a face. Katrina is about to inform them that it looks as though the video connection has been resolved when she realises what she’s seeing.

It’s her face.

_ “Perhaps this is more comfortable for you,”  _ they say, and that voice coming out of her own mouth is such an unsettling effect that there’s no way they’ve got her comfort in mind. 

It takes her a while to realise that the really weird thing, the thing that's triggering some evolutionary fight or flight reflex in her, is that the face on the screen isn't blinking.

“Much,” she lies, not willing to concede any ground. “Now, I’m sure you’re very busy. I know I am. What was it you wanted to discuss?”

_ “Your attempts to access certain classified data.” _

Katrina stiffens. 

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

_ “You have made repeated attempts to access information about incursions into and previous encounters with the so-called Mirror Universe.”  _

The colour seems to drain away from the room at that, until all that's left is her face on the screen. Watching her. Like they’ve been watching her for weeks, she realises. 

“Looking for information isn’t against any regulations I’m aware of.” Any pretence of calm has evaporated now, along with any notion of denying their accusations. “I’ve not divulged any classified information to anyone, and I’ve not accessed any files without the appropriate clearance. So I’d like you to explain why you’ve been  _ spying  _ on me—”

_ “It is occasionally necessary, in the pursuit of the safety and security of the Federation, to make difficult choices.”  _ Katrina blinks in the pause before they speak again.  _ “A sentiment we are certain you understand.” _

There’s a medal shoved at the bottom of Katrina’s desk drawer. Just below where her hand is resting now. The scar of a difficult choice she never wanted to make, and never wants to be reminded of again, much less be celebrated for. 

“Are you implying that I’m a security risk?” she says, sitting back, as far away from it as she can manage. 

_ “Inaccurate. We merely wish to understand your interest in the matter.” _

Her jaw clenches.

“Scientific. Nothing more.”

_ “Our assessment has indicated other underlying motivations.” _

“Then you’re mistaken.”

_ “We do not make mistakes.” _

The screen swirls again, and this time when it resolves it’s as if the air in her chest has turned to fire.

_ “Your heart rate is elevated, and your pupils have dilated.”  _ Gabriel arcs a smug eyebrow.  _ “Our assessment was correct.” _

It’s not him, it’s not - any version of him, even though they’ve modulated the timbre of their voice, made it deeper, whisky-scratched. He’s not real, but knowing that is no help at all, no defence against that part of her brain that was never much use around him. 

“Your  _ assessment _ was unwarranted,” Katrina manages, somehow, through gritted teeth. She balls her hands on the desk, in case they can somehow monitor how slick with sweat her palms are. “That is none of your concern—”

_ “The safety of Starfleet is our concern. Your emotional impairment is a risk to that safety.” _

“I am not - emotionally impaired!” Katrina snaps, doing a very good impression of someone who most certainly is emotionally impaired.

She imagines for a second how much of her history they must have prized open and pawed over to engineer this kind of response in her, and feels - grubby. Violated.

_ “Professionally compromised, then.”  _ Gabriel - Gabriel’s image - smirks, and the ghost of a fist around her throat tightens.  _ “You understand, of course, that we cannot permit you to continue operating outside of our remit.” _

They haven’t denied the existence of the files. They haven’t denied that others have been there, and come back. They haven’t denied that there’s a chance.

“And … inside your remit?” Kat asks, and hates herself for it.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, the way he always did when he thought he’d won. 

The embarrassment is still hot on Katrina’s cheeks when Gabriel disappears, but the vision of her on the screen that replaces him looks cool, calm. Hard.

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Katrina says, slowly, piecing it all together. “You want me to work for you.”

_ “Inaccurate,” _ they say through her mouth. The voice is smooth and bland once more, and Katrina wishes she could deny the stab of loss she feels.  _ “You will work  _ with _ us, as Starfleet’s liaison.” _

“Will I?” Katrina’s lip has curled before she has time to disguise her disgust. She’s trying hard not to feel offended that she has been tapped - that she's being _bribed -_ to work for or with or in any capacity anywhere near an area of Starfleet business that she finds utterly repugnant, but it’s an effort, and one she’s not sure she can manage for long. “I’ll consider your offer,” she adds, and somehow manages to keep the  _ ‘when hell freezes over’ _ subvocal. 

_ “You misunderstand. There is no offer.” _

A new notification pings on Katrina’s PADD. She knows, somehow, from the expectant silence and the sick feeling in her stomach, what she will find there, but she makes a show of reading it all the same.

“You’ve updated my personnel file,” she says, equivocal. “How … efficient.”

She sets the tablet down again with a  _ click  _ that resonates in the quiet of her office.

_ “Our primary objective is to ensure that the security of the Federation is maintained at any cost.”  _ The voice sounds - almost uncertain, for the first time. _ “Our analysis was that in this matter, we are aligned. Were we incorrect in this assessment?" _

Kat lifts her chin to meet her own gaze, sees the uncompromising hardness there and knows, with a certainty that she hasn’t felt since that  _ almost  _ on Qo’nos, that they are absolutely correct. That when the moment comes, when a difficult choice needs to be made, she won’t hesitate. That this time, she will stand straight and greet the danger like an old friend.

"You said it yourself," she says at last, and even though her voice is little more than a whisper, it carries. “You don’t make mistakes.”

It’s only the direction she’ll be facing that they’ve misjudged. 

The voice simply hums, apparently satisfied.

_ "Welcome to Section 31, Admiral Cornwell." _


End file.
